


made you put down your guard

by blackkat



Series: Star Wars Smut [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Armor, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Grinding, Hand Jobs, PWP, Vaginal Fingering, thigh grinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: "Senator,” Fox says, and lets the door slide closed behind him.At her desk, Padmé glances up, feeling her heartbeat trip into something a little faster, and deliberately slides her datapad into a drawer and shuts it firmly. “Commander,” she says, and it’s only with effort that her voice comes out steady. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Star Wars Smut [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675714
Comments: 13
Kudos: 307





	made you put down your guard

“Senator,” Fox says, and lets the door slide closed behind him.

At her desk, Padmé glances up, feeling her heartbeat trip into something a little faster, and deliberately slides her datapad into a drawer and shuts it firmly. “Commander,” she says, and it’s only with effort that her voice comes out steady. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Fox’s helmet tilts, and then he reaches out and punches in a code on the keypad. The privacy light flickers to red, and with a thud, the doors lock. Padmé’s indrawn breath is buried under the sound of Fox’s boots on the tile, but she straightens, watching him approach. It’s the middle of the day, and she has meetings later. She has reading to do and paperwork to sign, but—

None of it is urgent. Fox knows that. He keeps track, is always respectful of her work, and it’s one of the things she loves about him.

There are so many to pick from, though.

Fox stops right on the other side of the desk, then reaches up. He pulls his helmet off and sets it on the metal, then looks her over, and says, “I think there is, Senator.”

A shiver runs down Padmé’s spine, but she doesn’t let herself smile, just raises a brow. “And what would that be, Commander?”

For a moment, Fox just looks her over, dark eyes and the stern slant to his mouth and the faint flush that’s high in his cheeks. He’s still wearing his gauntlets. Is still wearing _all_ of his armor, and Padmé wants to swallow hard but doesn’t allow herself to waver even for a second.

“I think that depends,” Fox says finally, and there's an edge to his voice, something dark and rough.

Padmé can't quite stop her eyes from fluttering shut as she takes a breath. Marshals herself, then opens them, and asks, “On what?”

“On how much you like that dress,” Fox says. “And how long we have.”

Padmé doesn’t curse, because if arguing with Orn Free Taa can't make her swear, nothing in the galaxy can. She tilts her chin, looking Fox over like she’s assessing him, and then says, “I have a meeting in an hour, and I hate this dress.”

The quick, sharp flash of Fox’s smirk is like a lance of heat into the pit of her stomach, and he says, “Good,” in a low, soft voice that’s so perfect Padmé want to reach for him immediately. Slowly, deliberately, he rounds her desk, then gets a hand on the back of her chair and turns it to face him, leaning over her.

Padmé traces her gaze up his armor, vivid red and perfect white, and smiles at him, slow and wicked. “I have a concern you need to address about this before I help you, Commander.”

“Terms?” Fox asks dryly, though his gaze is amused and intent in equal measure. “How like a politician. What’s your question, Senator?”

Padmé breathes out, meets his eyes. “How easy is it to clean your armor? And does your codpiece detach?”

Fox shivers. She can see it, the tremor that runs through him as he closes his eyes, catches his breath, and the proof of how much she affects him makes her smile grow. Throat working, Fox jerks his head in a nod, then reaches down, and Padmé lays her hands against his _kama_ , stroking the heavy edges of it. Stripping off a gauntlet, Fox grabs the codpiece, fumbles with some kind of latch for a moment, and then detaches it. He drops it, and Padmé curls her fingers around his hips and pulls him close, between her thighs.

When she slides a hand into his armor, finding the zipper on his blacks, Fox makes a ragged, almost wounded noise, and Padmé smiles. She leans in, pressing her lips to the dark red symbol of the Republic painted on the chest of his armor, then drags the zipper down. Pulls him in another step, gets her hand around a blood-hot shaft, and hears Fox’s choked gasp as his head falls back. he’s beautiful like this, sharp cheekbones and stark jaw, dark, tight curls just touched with grey.

“Is this for me?” Padmé teases gently, stroking him so lightly it’s hardly a touch at all. Fox moans, catching himself on the edge of the desk as she dips her fingers down a little further, presses in just a little harder. When she pushes him back, though, he goes without protest, and Padmé rises, follows three steps and then catches his shoulder. This time, when she pushes, he goes down instead of back, dropping to his knees and then folding backwards to sprawl out on the floor when Padmé pushes.

She takes a moment to admire the picture he makes, a strong, beautiful man so perfectly yielding under her touch, so ready to let her take control, so _glad_ when she does. It makes it a little hard to breathe, and Padmé sinks to the floor as well, settles on her knees and straddles one of his thighs.

“Everything’s for you,” Fox says, breathless, and Padmé laughs a little, leaning forward to kiss him. He takes it eagerly, hands gentle on her back as he strokes her spine, cups the nape of her neck. He doesn’t try to sink his fingers into her hair, doesn’t grab and muss, just holds, and Padmé rewards him by sliding her hand back into his blacks. She pulls his cock all the way out this time, smearing her thumb over the head and tracing the thick veins, and the choked gasp against her lips makes her smile.

“You’re so sweet,” she tells him, and Fox groans, settling on his elbows as his head falls back. His thighs are tense, trembling slightly with every stroke of her hand, and Padmé shifts, pulling her skirts out of the way. Her panties are thin, already wet, and she slides them down as best she can, then sit down on Fox’s thigh, the thick leather of the _kama_ making her gasp. She rocks against it, testing the feeling, and it’s _good_. When she grinds down, Fox rocks his leg up, and she has to catch her breath as sparks of pleasure swim up her spine. If she shifts back, leans forward—

The _kama_ presses right up against her clit, and Padmé can't muffle her moan. She catches herself with a hand on the floor by Fox’s shoulder, and he reaches up, then hesitates.

“It unlaces,” Padmé manages to get out, and Fox’s fingers immediately go to the ties of her bodice, pulling them loose. The tight top falls open as the laces give, and Fox’s clever fingers find the front clasp on her bra and undo it. Fox leans up, kissing her as he cups her breasts, and Padmé strokes him harder, feels the hitch of his hips and the way his breath shudders out on a groan. He leans forward, kissing her collarbone, and Padmé spreads her legs a little more, rocks desperately on the hardness of his armored thigh. She grinds down, lifts her hips, rolls herself against him, and Fox lets go, leans back to look up into her face like he can't believe she’s real.

“Padmé,” Fox says, and grunts when she slides her hand down to cup his balls. She rolls them between her fingers, tugs, and he gasps out a curse that makes her smile. When she tightens her legs around his thigh, grinds her clit against the smooth leather, he slips back, thumping his head against the floor as he braces a foot against the floor, thrusts desperately into the touch of her hand.

“You must have been thinking about this all day,” Padmé says breathlessly, and slides a hand back, underneath her skirts. She slips two fingers into herself, and just barely manages not to whimper as she grinds down harder against Fox’s armor. Her grip on his cock tightens, and he moans, fingers curling against the tile.

“Since you left,” he gets out, voice cracking. “Every minute, wanted you—”

Padmé cries out, grinding down on her fingers, rocking forward to rub her clit against his _kama_. “Fox,” she gasps. “Fox, _Fox_ —”

With a curse, Fox leans up, pulling her forward and into a desperate kiss. A moment later, a gauntleted hand is sliding between her legs, and Padmé really does whimper this time, pulling her own fingers out and letting Fox replace them with his. The gauntlet is thick, slick fabric over the fingers, and two of them press into her, all the way to the base. With a gasp, Padmé grinds forward, and Fox strokes inside of her, long, deep strokes that make cunt drip and drive high, breathy noises from her throat. She hunches over against him, and Fox kisses her, wild and full of teeth, drags his fingers up in one hard stroke just as he pushes his thigh up into her clit—

Padmé comes, shaking through her like a wave of pure heat that sears her nerves and makes her cry out. Fox’s mouth on hers muffles it, and he strokes her gently through the tremors as he kisses her, lets Padmé cling to him. It feels like it’s endless, a wash of pleasure that keeps breaking, and she whimpers, pulls her mouth away to gasp into his shoulder, and Fox lets out a ragged breath as his fingers slowly still.

“Good?” he asks, kissing her cheek, and Padmé moans, too dizzy with orgasm for words.

With a rough chuckle, Fox lifts her up carefully, gets an arm beneath her thighs, and picks her right up off the ground as he rises. Two steps back and he lowers her into her chair, then eases her panties all the way down and off over her heels. With the familiarity of having been doing this for months, he finds one of the extra pairs she keeps in the bottom drawer, then gently eases them up and on. Padmé lifts herself just enough to help, then catches his hands as he rises and tugs.

Fox comes willingly, dropping to his knees so Padmé can lean over and kiss him, and she frames his beautiful face between her hands and does. Long, slow, deep kisses, familiar and thrilling with the heat of Fox’s mouth on hers, his hands on her waist, his fingers gripping her tight.

“I think I ruined your gloves,” she breathes against his mouth, and Fox snorts, kisses her one more time.

“Ruined isn't the word I would use,” he says, and Padmé laughs a little. She tugs him up, and when he comes willingly, she pulls him around, letting him lean against her desk. He grips the edges tightly, watching her with dark eyes, and Padmé goes to her knees instead, kissing the curve of his hard cock the way she just did his mouth, lingering and lazy.

“Your turn,” she says, and casts him a wicked smile before she drags her mouth up to take the head between her lips.


End file.
